Stone
by athousandsmiles
Summary: She looks like someone's idea of tragic beauty. House/Cameron


**Title:** Stone

**Pairing:** House/Cameron

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** Mild Angst

**Summary:** She looks like someone's idea of tragic beauty, and he envisions some great artist trying to sculpt her from stone.

**Disclaimer:** I totally own them. Just call me Dave.

**A/N:** This is set in s2, post Hunting, but veers from canon. Reviews would be great. First story posted here, but if you follow my work at LJ, this is a rerun for you.

**Beta credit to:** **jesmel** and **magsyb** from LJ. Thanks ladies. Written as a birthday gift for my wonderful friend, **blueheronz**. It's not nearly enough, Reka.

_"Pain makes us make bad decisions. Fear of pain is almost as big a motivator."_ House, Euphoria

Cameron is standing in front of the whiteboard like a scarecrow; all pale and thin, her clothes hanging off her too small frame. She looks like someone's idea of tragic beauty, and he envisions some great artist trying to sculpt her from stone.

When she gets that look on her face and runs out of the conference room, he turns toward the coffee maker and pours himself a cup of the stale brew. She's going to vomit again, and he's going to continue pretending he doesn't care. It's not his problem that she's stubborn enough to continue working through the nasty side effects of HIV meds.

The coffee is worse than it looks. He dumps it in the sink and heads off to find Stacy, because Stacy doesn't look like tragedy carved in stone. She is the familiar and comfortable that doesn't make him feel whatever it is that Cameron does. And right now he doesn't want to feel that.

**House**

It's late when he sees her pack away her laptop that night. He feels an irrational anger at the sight of her, looking sickly and stoic all at once. Saint Allison, ever the martyr. Grabbing a stack of charts he heads into the conference room and slaps them down on the desk in front of her.

"I need these done by tomorrow morning," he orders, looking her right in the eye, daring her to defy him.

"No," she says, "I'm tired. I'm going home."

He blocks her exit with his cane, anger flowing through his veins like an opiate. "No, you're going to do the charting first."

Shaking her head, she steps around him, heading for the door, her posture rigid and determined.

"Cameron."

She stops and turns to glare at him, her arms crossed at the chest, challenging.

"Do the charting tonight," he orders again, standing as close to her as possible without touching her.

"Or what?" she asks, never blinking.

"Or YOU'RE FIRED," he threatens, his blood boiling with inexplicable rage.

His look turns smug when she moves back to the desk, until he sees her grab the few personal belongings she keeps there, cramming them into her bag. Her face is the picture of absolute defiance as she brushes past him again. She doesn't say a word, doesn't look back, just sweeps out of the room with her right hand raised, middle finger pointing to the ceiling. One obscene gesture to let him know exactly how she feels.

Allison Cameron has just called his bluff.

"What the hell was that?" Wilson huffs, turning away from the vision of Cameron striding down the hall with her finger still raised, as he marches into House's office. "Did you just fire Cameron?"

House doesn't answer. He can't. He's still reeling from her reaction and he's even angrier, if that's possible, but for entirely different reasons now. Sinking down into the nearest chair, he rubs his head and wonders what the hell just happened.

**House**

She's back a few days later, but not to work for him. Cuddy has offered her a position as assistant head of immunology, complete with her own office. He knows that Cuddy is just trying to cover the hospital's ass. Firing an employee who's recently been exposed to HIV is a lawsuit waiting to happen. He got the lecture in stereo from both Cuddy and Stacy the night he fired her, after Wilson ratted him out.

Despite that fact, she deserves the promotion and he knows it. In many ways, she's been running the diagnostics department for two years, taking care of all the paperwork, mail, charting, and even finding ways to stretch their budget. Hell, all the things he mocked her for are the very things that make her worthy of her own department.

Since she left, he only sees her on rare occasions in the cafeteria, or in the elevator. She barely looks at him and they don't speak to one another. She still looks pale and ghostly, and it's oddly appropriate because she's been haunting him. He can't sleep, just thinks of her eroding away like stone pounded by the tide. He wonders, what if she, what if he, what if they... a thousand fears and unanswered questions circling around in his brain and tumbling together like clothes in a dryer.

Now that he doesn't see Cameron every day, he stops seeking out Stacy. Chasing her was just a distraction from Cameron, especially after she was exposed to HIV. He's come to realize a lot of things where Cameron is concerned, and he's not hiding it well if his most recent conversation with Wilson is any indication.

"You won't take a chance, 'cause you're scared," Wilson accuses, his pointer finger waving in House's face. "You're afraid to be happy. You're afraid to feel. And Cameron makes you feel."

"Oh God, here we go," House retorts with a roll of his eyes. "Gonna shrink my head? Should I lay down on the couch now, doctor?"

Wilson's not far off the mark though, and they both know it. But right now House's biggest fear is losing her to a disease even he can't cure.

**House**

"Nice office," he remarks, plopping himself down on her couch and stretching out. "Nice couch."

She doesn't respond, just gives him the once over before going back to her paperwork as if he's not even there.

Somehow this becomes their routine. Everyday he slides quietly into her office and claims her couch, lying down to watch her work beneath lowered eyelids. Not a word is spoken between them, but he knows that she knows that his presence is his way of saying, "I'm sorry," and, "I miss you." And he knows that her quiet acceptance of his presence is her way of saying, "I forgive you," and "I miss you too." They've always said more in the silences than they've ever said with words. He thinks they could actually have a lasting relationship as long as they never speak to each other.

Then one day she rises from her seat and moves toward the door. "You want anything from the vending machine?" she asks.

"No thanks," he answers, wondering at the break in routine.

She slips out the door and returns a few minutes later with a chocolate bar in hand. He hears paper tearing before she resumes working at her desk.

Another few minutes go by, the only sound her pen scratching across paper and the occasional rustle of candy wrapper.

Suddenly she lays down her pen and sighs.

"I'm tired," she says, and rises. Crossing to him, she stands by his feet for a few seconds and then, unexpectedly, she lowers herself gently across his body until her head is resting on his chest.

He wraps his arms around her, one hand stroking her hair, and answers, "Me too."

She lifts her chin and meets his eyes, and he kisses her, softly at first and then more urgently. They are pressed together at the lips and the hips and everything in between, and the way she is responding to his touch is driving him mad with desire. He is Pygmalion bringing stone to life.

She tastes like chocolate, and he knows he'll never taste it again without thinking of her, of this. They are in the midst of a heated make out session, which is about to escalate with the shedding of clothes when the door is opened and Cuddy comes through.

"Dr Cameron, have you..." she trails off, mouth agape and eyes wide enough to resemble a cartoon character.

"Don't you ever knock?" House groans, as Cameron scrambles off him and straightens her blouse.

Cuddy shakes her head, and blinks twice before sputtering, "I don't even want to know what's going on or how long it's been going on. Just...get your ass to the clinic, House. Now."

She exits, leaving the door wide open, a faint trail of expensive perfume following her out.

"MOOD KILLER," House shouts toward the hallway, taking note of the small smile on Cameron's face that has been absent for far too long. He notices too that she has color in her cheeks again and that her eyes have started to regain their shine. His ivory goddess in the flesh.

And if he were an artist, he'd sculpt her like this.


End file.
